


Golden Turned Black

by Winterborne



Series: Dragon Age AU [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Bittersweet Ending, Dragon Age AU, Institutional Abuse, M/M, and jack is a templar, don't get your hopes up at the e rating, gabe is a knight enchanter circle mage, there's only one sex scene in chapter 3
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 09:59:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11461245
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Winterborne/pseuds/Winterborne
Summary: Mage meets Templar. Templar is cocky and Mage is snarky. Both have a shot at a life more than the Circle.





	Golden Turned Black

**Author's Note:**

> this was part of the reaper76 big bang, i was partnered up with the brilliant [Scribey](http://oblivionscribe.tumblr.com/)

The view wasn’t perfect. It was stained in blues, greens, and oranges from the glass window, the colours outside made impossible to guess. It wasn’t anywhere near perfect, but it was already far more than Gabriel was permitted.

The world outside, lands sweeping impossible lengths with no end in sight, all began with a still enclosure of water. The waters below the tower were barren except for jagged rocks that curved in a half-circle to meet the nearest side of land, with the ruins of what used to be a usable and sturdy bridge running in the middle. Gabriel had always wondered how long it had gone neglected, if it had been damaged this badly in a war or battle or if the blame fell upon their own soldiers and templars. The latter always came to him as more plausible.

That, however, was always only a very small part of it. Beyond the cold waters and sharp stone, the land was alive with rolling hills, countless trees, and small villages with houses and buildings huddled together. Not far off from the largest settlement, framed by towering cliffs of ruddied brown above it, was a great castle of stone on an island not far off the shore, easily accessible by a large bridge. Gabriel liked to imagine what it was for - probably an important noble family or a stronghold for an army. The sheer size and strength of it implied it wouldn’t be used for anything less, and he liked to think of what their lives were like, with such nice food and no templars and the simple freedom of being able to walk out in the outside.

Looking out further, to the sun falling over and under the outlines of a world so far he could barely make it out, Gabriel wishes he was able to reach his hand outside, feel the breeze and warmth and cold and anything and everything the world outside had to offer.

The sound of an opening door echoes, followed by heavy footsteps on stone, interrupts Gabriel’s thoughts. He’s ripped back to the room behind the glass and stone with nothing beyond. His body stiffens, hoping for the best, hoping it wasn’t anyone too strict or-

“Gabriel?”

It wasn’t angry. More exasperated than anything else and he relaxes at the familiar voice.

"You know you shouldn't be here, how many times..." The voice, resonating deep, fades off to silence.

Gabriel's shoulders slump slightly, body now relaxed and adrenaline wearing off just as quickly as it had crashed over him. One quick step, and he turns with an easy grin. In front of him, blocking both the only exit and substantial light source beyond it, stood a body of metal, solid and cold and made entirely of unyielding bulk. The red and yellow fabric decorating the steel did little, if anything, to soften the look. One side of Gabriel’s mouth upturns sharply and as he regards the heavily armoured soldier in front of him, he pushes himself into the casual act.

"You know me, Elsie. I'm not gonna do anything stupid," Gabriel’s voice comes light, words slow with an undercurrent of a laugh. The templar lets out yet another sigh.

Her armoured hands lift to her helmet, movement heavy yet seemingly practiced and coming with little effort at the same time. Steel fingers hook under and around the faceless helm, lifting it smoothly. Just like that, metal gives way to tawny skin, soft looking despite deep wrinkles and scars slashed across the woman’s face. Helmet hanging from one hand, the other smoothing down dark ruffles of hair, Elsie’s eyes meet Gabriel’s own.

“Reyes,” the Templar’s voice comes forth with more command. Gabriel would have commented that the order would have been more effective _with_ the steel mask, cold authority practically forged into it, but even he understood when he was getting too close to the line.

One last look to the warped land out the window, one last thought of, _‘it isn’t perfect’_ , and Gabriel walked, the templar followed, and the door shut behind.

He makes his way down the stairs below and into the following hallway, brick against brick in a uniformed pattern, but before Gabriel could walk any further and past this, a call reverberates against the walls.

“Templar Hickman,” the voice was foreign, and Gabriel halts. He knew every mage, templar, and tranquil in this fortress if not by name then by face, and certainly by voice. It was simply the consequence of living his near entire life in the circle, as did most of the others here. He did not, however, recognise this one. “I couldn’t find the apprentice in th-” the man’s voice, slightly gruff at the edges but overall retaining a soft quality to it, cuts off just as he had begun and, “oh.”

A wall of metal stood in Gabriel’s path now, unmoving and looking towards him and then to the other templar. Gabriel could feel fear running through his veins once again, unfamiliar to this templar and his rank and how he will react to this-

“Stand down,” Elsie says, cool and loud in the small corridor, “Reyes has been found and nothing of incident has occurred.”

The unknown templar steps toward Elsie, and Gabriel resists the temptation to create more distance between the soldier and himself.

“That’s the harrowing chamber, no mage is-”

“I said, _stand down,_ Morrison,” The words are growled out, and the man, _Morrison_ apparently, jumps back.

It’s hesitant, but he finally yields and stands to the side, quiet and unmoving, and that is how Gabriel Reyes first meets Jack Morrison.

 

* * *

 

There are numerous sayings about first impressions. We are taught that the first minute of meeting someone can shape their entire view of us, often with much accuracy.

Gabriel remembers the first time he actually met a templar. The figure came with no sympathy and had kept silent, unnervingly so, and it had made the sounds of his mother sobbing even more poignant in the air as he was led away. Gabriel had always tried to walk his life in Andraste’s teachings, had been taught the templars did so to an even higher degree, but he hadn’t seen Her light in the man there. He’d learnt quickly that this was often the rule with templars, and not the exception. Gabriel tries not to think about this memory too much.

Then there are others who say that first impressions are frequently wrong, that just because you start off on the wrong foot with someone, doesn’t mean they mean any ill will towards you.

There’s an even more distant memory, and although Gabriel finds it difficult to remember the fine details, he has always been able to remember the basics. There had been a man in the kitchen one morning, strange and unfamiliar. His mother had been more excited than he’d seen her in a long time, fussing over him, embracing him, his older sister near jumping into his open arms - all while Gabriel had just stood there. His mother had told Gabriel that this stranger was _Father_. Gabriel remembered being told stories about his father; how he was away fighting for their country, for them. Gabriel had a picture painted of him, all larger than life, and he could only think one thing:

_‘This man wasn’t him.'_

He talked so easily with his mother, with his sister, but with Gabriel, he seemed to come to a dead end. He remembers it being awkward, horribly so, all until the day it simply wasn’t anymore. The line is blurry in his memory, difficult to pin down, but it had become less uncomfortable, conversations less stilted. Gabriel distinctly remembers the man offering to teach him sewing once Gabriel had shown an interest in the hobby. Slowly, he’d become Father.

If you were to ask Gabriel about his first meeting with Jack Morrison however, he wouldn’t be able to recall. He would maybe speak of the many times he saw the templar in the corridors the first several weeks the blond had been stationed there, just another soldier among many others. Maybe he’d instead tell you about the first few actual conversations they had if you happened to be close to him.

There are people, many of them, who one can never truly remember how they met, and Jack was just another person in that category. It never did surprise him.

Many new faces were introduced into the tower every month, and while newly introduced templars could leave the sensation of walking on loose stones, ready to give way at any second if the soldier chose such, they were so frequent that all the instances blurred together. Such unease wasn’t a distinct marking of certain moments, but more a routine every mage went through periodically.

_New templar, just moved to the circle. Keep quiet, keep your head down, and one ear to the ground. Figure out that templar’s motives, his boundaries. Then settle back into normal life._

Jack hadn’t been an exception to this.

 

* * *

 

“Now, harness the fade into your hands,” the Enchanter’s words come in a steady tone, firm in his instructions, “feel it between your fingers and bend it to your will - mold it to something tangible.”

The magic Gabriel is summoning feels peculiar. It has a familiar foundation to it, something that comes with all kinds of magic: a slight pressure against the hands and the air becoming slightly humid around the source, even tangy at times with a particularly powerful burst of magic, but _this_ is something altogether more unyielding. His palms have become clammy and there’s a distinct presence of an actual weight forming into them, heavier than any staff that the circle would issue an apprentice like him with. At times, when he can feel the magic slipping from between his fingers and his mana nearly giving way, Gabriel can feel his lungs burn with the effort and there’s a strain in his temples.

It’s demanding more from Gabriel’s body than any magic before, and he hasn’t even managed to correctly summon the spell yet. He can once again feel the familiar throb at the sides of his head and he swears he must be close. He can feel it manifesting in the air, so close to finally having a physical presence in his hands, when there’s a spark, a sudden surge of energy, and-

It’s gone. Gabriel’s lost it back to the fade for the umpteenth time that day. The room almost feels empty, the abrupt change of the air going from being so charged with energy to what was _supposed_ to be its natural stillness leaving a distinct feeling of loss in its wake.

There’s a sigh behind him and Gabriel doesn’t need to turn around to know the disappointed look on Enchanter Aranda’s face.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel could never work out how the templars properly navigated around after dark. He found the candles and torches always too dark and far between to distinguish anything by. Some of them carried torches, yes, but most didn’t. How they saw anything without one, he’d never know. Although, absentmindedly twirling a magical stream of light between his fingers, Gabriel would have to admit that he had never _needed_ to get used to such a thing.

The book is easier to read by his summoned light and the magic easily maintained, nothing he has to give much of a thought to keep up. Gabriel wishes he could say the same about the school of magic he’s currently trying to grasp.

“Knight-Enchanter,” he breathes. It would get him out of the circle, at the very least. He wouldn’t be able to have a completely normal life, but it would be close enough to what he pictured when he was a child. He’d be out in the world, fighting alongside others who wish to keep the roads and lands safe, a blade in hand to do so. Wouldn’t be exactly as he thought it would be, all those years ago, but close enough.

But first, he’d need to actually learn how to wield it. The first, most simple spell he would have to summon is a spirit blade, a literal sword of magic. Gabriel was finding it nigh impossible. It never felt like he had enough mana and the magic he did have always slipped between his fingers just when it seemed to be going well, an obstacle he had came across when first learning magic but not since. He would just need to continue practicing, slowly increasing his threshold until it was enough. Slowly, but surely.

And so, he returned to the theory behind it in the meantime.

Gabriel isn’t sure exactly how long he’s been in the library, but his best guess would be at four hours minimum. Not only is any of the natural light from the high up windows absent, but he’s the only one left in the large room and there’s none of the normal chatter coming from outside it. No templar has come to clear him out and to his sleeping quarters yet however, so it couldn’t be that late.

He was about to go back to his reading, one hand still toying with an offshoot of his light spell, when the door adjacent to him opened. _‘Speak of the Black Divine,’_ Gabriel thinks to himself as a templar promptly strides through. He returns back to his book but makes sure to keep the templar in his peripheral nonetheless. They might only be here due to a patrol or shift rotation. Gabriel isn’t about to get up and leave with his tail between his legs just because some glorified soldier walked into the same room as him.

The templar doesn’t leave however, and instead they glance at Gabriel before standing further into the room, back to the wall. There’s a moment where Gabriel doesn’t continue where he’d left off, just waiting for the templar to make a move and say something. Silence fills the room, only accompanied by the occasional sound of shifting fabric or armour, and the templar’s voice never comes. _‘Guard duty?’_ it’s a question he isn’t all too preoccupied in being answered when it’s giving him no grievances. So he continues his book like he had been before and shrugs off any anxious voices.

Gabriel comes back the next evening, still not quite getting to grips with summoning any Knight-Enchanter spells, still having to come back to the theory in hopes that it’ll hold progress for him. And again, the templar arrives and stands in silence. It goes like the first time, except Gabriel settles into reading sooner. The next night is much the same, as is the one after that. They say nothing nor move, kept in silence, and they remain there after Gabriel retires to bed. Gabriel wonders at one point whether or not it’s the same person under there every time. They’re the same height each night, or at least, he guesses so, and they stand at the same exact spot on every visit. Gabriel’s mind supplies all his questions with a ‘probably’ and he decides to leave it at that.

Or, he would have, if the pattern hadn’t been broken.

It was small, but still something. Gabriel had read, the sun had gone, and nearly everyone else had retired to bed when the templar arrived. He stood there, as usual, until he didn’t. Gabriel hadn’t heard any footsteps, too focused to really pay attention to much else other than his research, and when he spared a glance upwards, the templar was gone and out of sight. He jolts up slightly, a bolt of anxiety, and he turns his head in a frantic movement to find them.

The panic is short lived, as he spots the them several metres away, looking through some of the books on one of the bookshelves. Gabriel feels his body relax. It’s a few minutes before the templar returns to his typical spot, this time with a book, and Gabriel is amused to note that it was from the small section reserved for adventure fiction.

The routine starts up again, a new normal set out for Gabriel, until-

“I’d recommend _A Sunset Surrender_ ,” Gabriel says, breaking the silence. The templar had been at the bookshelf for what must have been over ten minutes now, yet to pick a novel and return. The templar glances to him and Gabriel finds himself speaking up again, “It’s good, I promise.”

He assumes they take his advice because they return not a minute later with a book in hand and, sparing a quick glance upwards at what sounded suspiciously like a muttered _‘thanks’_ , Gabriel can see the familiar cover in their hands.

They both read in silence, and Gabriel finds himself even more confused as to how anyone would be able to read under the library’s normal lighting at this hour. But he pushes it aside, goes back to reading, and his tongue only grows restless when he finishes the latest section.

“So,” Gabriel begins, “any reason you didn’t keep going with that other book?” The templar looks up from behind their reading. There’s a moment of stillness, and in it Gabriel wonders if he’s made a mistake in questioning him, before the templar speaks up with a voice deep and rough like sandpaper.

“Didn’t like the protagonist,” it’s a simple answer, but genuine nonetheless, and Gabriel leaves it at that.

It’s a few nights later when the templar with the voice like gravel finishes the story, takes out a different book, and says, “You were right, it was good. Thanks.” And if Gabriel feels a smile tugging at his lips when he saw the new book was by the same author, well, no one had to know.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel had nearly done it.

Hours before, he’d nearly summoned a spirit blade in perfect form. It hadn’t been successful, per se, with the spell lacking the right amount of power and control behind it. But it had been within his grasp and far greater an attempt than he’d ever achieved before. He had felt it in the air and himself, an amount of mana he’d not had before and with it a heightened discipline to mold it. Aranda had smiled at him after. It was enough to smooth the distress of rough paper under his fingers and the strain on his eyes.

He won’t miss these nights filled with researching instead of practical application, but he knows it won’t be long now. He’s making progress quicker than the first enchanter predicted, there’s little chance he would stay an apprentice much longer, and when that happened there wouldn’t be much use keeping a _Knight-Enchanter_ under lock and key-

“Your book?” Gabriel is brought back from his thoughts by the templar’s deep voice. He’s sitting several feet away from Gabriel, but at the same table - a habit he had begun a few days ago. Gabriel doesn’t blame him, standing still for hours on end fails to sound very appealing to him as well. When Gabriel simply looks at the templar questionably, he adds, “You know what I’m reading, but I’ve never asked what your book is about.”

“Uh,” is Gabriel’s response. He’s hesitant, not sure if talking about magic with a templar of all people would be wise, “It’s just about the type of spells I’m learning right now.”

“Like that?” the templar motions towards Gabriel, “that light trick?”

 _‘Oh,’_ is all that Gabriel can run through his mind before he feels himself chuckling, loud and from deep within his chest. He can’t imagine what face the templar must be wearing under that helmet, but he doesn’t quite care as he tilts his head back in laughter. The sound fades in a few moments, leaving him with only a smirk on his face.

 _“'That light trick!’"_ Gabriel parrots, incredulous. “ _This_ is a lot more complicated than a candlelight spell! There’s not even a reason to study light magic as much as this, it’s so simple.”

“I bet there is!” his voice is a higher pitch than Gabriel has ever heard him use before, and this? This is one reaction he doesn’t need to see to put a face to it: flustered embarrassment. “I mean, it’s- it’s pretty! Who wouldn’t want to use that?”

Gabriel feels another wave of laughter come over him, and he has to stifle it with a hand this time.

“There’s not much use for ‘pretty’ magic,” Gabriel says, voice still bubbling with laughter, “but I guess you are right, it can look nice.” He holds up his hand, focusing more onto the flowing light in his hand, and makes it dance. It glides around his fingers, twirling at the tips and making a spectacle of light and shadows against the walls and large bookshelves. The templar is watching, wordless, and Gabriel puts some more detail into the show. He slows the light down to a stop before making it a new form with four thin appendages like a stickman drawing from a child’s paper. It twirls in his grasp, nothing too extravagant, but the other man seems captivated.

There’s a moment of the templar simply watching before he reaches up and grasps his helmet, pulling it up and away. Gabriel guesses it’s to get a better look, it can’t be easy to see in such a thing, and then his magic flounders for a second as he watches from the corner of his eye.

The templar has a solid jaw and strong line of a nose, something he could have guessed given his voice. But Gabriel isn’t prepared for the light blue of his eyes, or the bright yellow of his short hair cropped slightly at the sides and back, and he _definitely_ wasn’t expecting the man to look so young. He can’t be any older than Gabriel, maybe a few years his junior even.

They stay like that for a moment more, the man watching Gabriel’s magic dance and Gabriel watching him.

“It really is pretty,” he murmurs, and Gabriel has no idea how to reply to that.

“Gabriel Reyes, by the way,” it’s the only thing he can think to say, and the man’s eyes move from his hand to look him in the eyes now and there’s a small smile on his lips.

“Jack Morrison.”

 

* * *

 

He’d no idea the time when he had been woken. It must have still been late, only dim light coming through the windows above the bunks, but the templar who had awaken him had kept silent in the face of his sleep dazed confusion. He’d been led through the hallways, flights of stairs, and now here, the harrowing chamber.

If Gabriel wasn’t fully awake by the time they arrived, he was when he realised exactly where he’d been taken to. In the middle of the room he can see the First Enchanter and the Knight-Commander, and then- _‘Jack?’_

He double takes and yes, that is in fact Jack in full templar armour, save for the helmet. He’s alongside two other templars in the same set of armour, and he can feel his mouth run dry.

Gabriel feels slightly light-headed and runs through what his First is telling him on autopilot. He can see faint light trickling in through the painted windows, but it’s not nearly bright enough to actually distinguish anything outside. It’s probably won’t be for a few hours still.

It’s only when he feels the lyrium working does he spot Jack again, sword in hand and face distressed. His vision erupts into white and when he can see again, it’s to the sight of an endless sky lit by no sun and the ground around him shimmering in its almost-reality.

Later, when Gabriel awakes, it’s to Jack at his side and his beaming smile.

 

* * *

 

The indoor templar training ground isn’t too grand. It was out of the way and couldn’t have been more than fifteen paces from each wall, with one half of that length lined with a number of targets for archery practice and even fewer wooden dummies. Gabriel guessed it made sense. They had another area as well, outside the tower walls, bigger and better and much more used. Also the one Gabriel hadn’t been permitted to use, naturally.

Although, he couldn’t complain too much as it was often left empty of any templars.

With one hand in a firm grip around an old wooden practice sword, he continues repeating various strikes against the dummy. Upwards, downwards, straight across, repeat but at a different angle. The Knight-Commander had refused him access to a real sword as well. Again, naturally. Nevertheless, he had to practice. Jack hadn’t arrived yet to spar with him, but even training like this would help his endurance, and Gabriel had to admit that he enjoyed it nearly as much as testing his magical abilities.

There was the unfamiliar burn in his arms, reaching its most intense in the hand he was currently holding the weapon with and making his fist feel weak at times. There came with it a matching ache in his legs, although less severe, and Gabriel made a point of pushing past it just like he did with his magic. Enchanter Aranda had encouraged Gabriel to now practice sword fighting just as much, if not more so, than his regular spells, and that it’d be best for him to get used to using both a staff and a sword in both hands, not only his dominant. She’d warned of the dangers found in a true battlefield, that one would seldom ever have time to switch weapon from one hand to the other to suite a changing situation. He’d taken the warning without further questioning.

The sound of footsteps cut through Gabriel’s concentration and he’s about to turn around and shout to Jack, when he realises there’s more than one pair echoing down the hall. He glances over his shoulder and sees a trio of seemingly off-duty templars, although still in their armour. They’re young, not so much as to be newly recruited, but enough to still have that unruly fight in them. He tries to make his rigid outline look more like a product of his training than nerves.

Idle chatter takes over from the normal silence and Gabriel holds onto the hope that they’ve taken a wrong turn in their distraction. Maybe they’ll realise in a moment when they see where they’ve come. The footsteps stop as well as the voices and Gabriel relaxes then tightens his grip on his sword, repositioning his stance. There’s a scoff behind him not a moment later.

“Didn’t think robes were allowed here,” it’s said with a harsh chortle and backed with a small laugh from another templar. Gabriel looks back at them again, this time with a glare, and one of them with shoulder length brown hair and high cheekbones puts his hands up in mock surrender.

“Come on now, no need to be like that,” it’s the same voice and it makes Gabriel only glower more.

“We’re just here to train,” the templar to the left pipes up, his hair shorter and closely cropped to the face. The last simply stays quiet, shaking her shaved head. The two, more restrained templars take up fighting stances with each other in what’s clearly a warmup. But the first one pursues, walking towards where Gabriel is and unsheathing his sword, draping it in a slight sway beside his hips and legs. He pays little attention to the dummies, however, eyes hanging over Gabriel instead.

“Wait,” there’s a glint in his eyes and Gabriel isn’t sure where this is going, but knows he doesn’t like the look one bit, “I know this one. He’s the robe that likes to pretend he’s a warrior.” It’s a jeer meant to provoke, and he tries his best not to play directly into it but he has to say something.

“Stop calling me that,” Gabriel tries, at least somewhat, to soften the hiss in his voice, and he returns to taking hits at the mannequin.

“Call you what,” he says, now completely ignoring the training dummies, and sneers, “robe?”

“I said don’t call me tha-” Gabriel’s shout is cut off to silence and pain. There’s a scorching pain throughout his stomach and he’s taking in quick gasps of air even though he feels like he’s getting none whatsoever. His hands are around his gut but it won’t stop. He looks up, eyesight blurred and all he sees is the templar looming over him, hand pressed against the guard of his sword hilt in a clenched fist.

“You wanna say that again?” it’s a challenge that he knows Gabriel can’t physically argue, not like this, “Didn’t think I heard you the first time.” He can hardly hear the words over the sound of blood rushing between his ears. The other templars have stopped practicing and he can see their still outlines behind the aggressor’s body. They aren’t moving to stop it, aren’t saying anything, not then and not when the soldier advances on him. Gabriel’s at the templar’s feet and the air feels all too suddenly stale around him.

There comes no strike, however, no escalation, and instead Gabriel sees movement in his unfocused vision. There’s a moment of confusion until the world comes back to him again. There’s still the templar standing over him in his steel armour, but the other two have turned, looking towards the door, and Gabriel can see Jack.

Jack steps forward and one of the templars takes a frantic step back.

“Get away from him,” Jack growls, jaw tense and blue eyes darker than Gabriel knows them.

“He came at me,” the templar says without even turning and Gabriel feels cold at how easily the lies passes his lips, “I was only defending myself.”

“He doesn’t seem to be fighting anymore. Anyway, he seems to have learnt his lesson. I can take him to see a healer,” it isn’t a request, not really, Jack’s voice hard and low in his throat. The templar’s fist tightens, Gabriel can see it clear as day this close to his face. But he turns around in a burst of speed and gives a rough grunt before striding past Jack. One of the templars, the one with the slightly shorter hair, follows behind in quick steps, while the last one looks on Gabriel for a moment. She sighs a word to the Maker and then goes on her way.

Gabriel keeps to the ground, gasping and clutching at his stomach, Jack watching the others leave. Footsteps fade out down the corridor, a wait until they’re completely gone, and Jack races into action. He’s down on his own knees in front of Gabriel, brows knitted and hands nearly coming to cup his face before falling back down. “Andraste’s tears,” he whispers softly.

Getting Gabriel back on his feet is a nasty affair, but necessary. He groans into Jack’s shoulder, arm over his armoured shoulder and leaning into him. They walk slowly through the circle, avoiding any other templars or high ranking mages, until they find their way to a spirit healer Gabriel trusts enough. He’s younger than them both, cheeks still holding the last bits of youthful roundness to them, and he says little as he goes about tending to the injury. He doesn’t question how it happened, doesn’t seem curious but goes about the job with a resigned look in his eyes.

“It was nothing serious, just some bad bruising. Worst of it’s gone, it’ll just ache for a couple of days. He got the wind knocked out of him is all,” he says it matter of fact, and when Gabriel simply says his thanks, the mage leaves to continue his day.

Jack glances over at Gabriel, seeing him rubbing at his chin and mouth, and looks away again. Gabriel hasn’t said anything yet and Jack sighs into the silence.

“You’ve got to stop...” Jack makes a face, mouth set in a frown, before carrying on, “provoking them.” Gabriel’s face twitches at that, and he finally looks up and into Jack’s eyes.

“I wasn’t,” he says simply, voice sure as if it was a strong argument on its own.

“I want to believe you, Gabriel,” Jack sighs again, eyes downcast even as he looked at him, “but this keeps happening, and it’s getting worse. At first, it was disciplinary actions, last time solitary, and now-!” he cuts himself off, voice forming a shout, and the air hangs heavy. Gabriel breaks it.

“They look for an excuse to do it, Jack,” and Gabriel sounds tired and expression open, “not even the most well behaved mages escape all of it.”

“Gabe,” he sits down next to him, close enough for the legs to comfortably press against the other, wants for him to understand, “they’re just afraid.” Gabriel tenses up, jolting up slightly.

“I’m afraid as well,” he says, leaning away slightly.

“It’s not the same,” Jack shoots out, and Gabriel only looks at him with a mix of anger and dismay. “We use swords, yes. But mages… mages always have their magic,” he trails off again, not sure if he’s getting his point across, and adds, “you’re basically a living weapon.”

Jack cuts himself off, jerking his head to look at Gabriel with wide eyes, and he’s met with an expression of horror.

“Is that how you see _me?_ ” his voice is quiet, mouth left slightly open by physically visible breaths.

“You’re not- you’re,” Jack stumbles, shakes in his words, “you’re Gabriel, not just some mage wh-” Gabriel startles up and away from Jack, distance between them and Gabriel face twists into a scowl.

“Get out.”

Jack takes a breath in, mouth moving around nothing. And then he’s getting up to leave. He gives Gabriel one more look, simply standing there, but Gabriel’s face only hardens. Jack goes on his way, not glancing back again.

Gabriel slumps back down, like a puppet whose strings were cut, and the throbbing at his side starts up again.

 

* * *

 

Gabriel can look up and see a night’s sky full of stars, the smell of dew in the air strong and somewhere the sound of an owl hooting. _‘It was worth it,’_ he tells himself.

He jumps into the battle easily, templars around him as they take on a group of maleficarum. The air is alive with energy even before they’ve reached them, both from magical spells and the templar abilities meant to constrain them.

A brilliant light escapes from his hand, quickly dimming to a long translucent pole. It molds itself in Gabriel’s hand, a hilt emerging, then a guard, and the rest takes a sharp form, a faint glow still distinguishable.

There’s the sound of clashing swords from those who’d been ahead of him and he swears he can already taste copper in his mouth. Gabriel draws his sword back, and takes his first swing as he whispers a prayer to the air.

_‘It was all worth it.’_

**Author's Note:**

> gonna update every 3 days


End file.
